I'm Doing Something Right

Woolacombe 2017

Last week my eldest was awarded Mathematician of the Year, Lower School for 2017. This actually is a great achievement, considering he was in Year 7 last year, so he was picked out against Year 7 and Year 8 students!

Then, last night I went to the parents evening for my youngest son, who is in Year 6 and will be moving up to secondary school next year.

As soon as I sat down, his teacher was 'well this is an easy parents evening', and gave my son such praise. From his attitude to learning to his conduct within the classroom and with his peers, she said he was a pleasure to teach. (And I know most say this, but I like to believe she meant it).

When my eldest was first born, and I'd come down from the joys of giving birth to a healthy baby, I was thinking 'oh shit - a boy'. I remembered all the boys at school when I was a girl that couldn't be bothered to learn, those that mucked about in the class room. The little shits basically. And then when I was sent a second boy, I thought my troubles had doubled.

Tyntesfield with Granddad - who never encourages them!

It is assumed that because they are boys, they will be naughty, that they will fight. (It did used to rile me when a mum would excuse her child's poor behaviour because he was a boy.)

My two are not always blue-eyed boys and they come with their flaws. They are still children, after all. They like to fight and bicker like any other siblings. Yet, one thing they both seem to do well is get on at school. (I'm pretty sure they have a personality transplant as they walk through the school gates.) I've never had a problem with them going off to school. They enjoy learning, and generally behave well for other people. They are both bright, intelligent boys, with great personalities (which they obviously get that from me! ha ha!). My fears of them being 'little shits' in the classroom have been squashed.

My eldest is lacking in some common sense at times...  it maybe the turning 13 symptoms... He can be away with the fairies which drives me and his dad mad! (I no longer take it personally when they play up for their dad at the weekends). And my youngest still knows how to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old when things aren't going his way. But generally, they are good boys, who I hope will turn out to be strong, successful, loving men.

Maybe me being a tough mum has paid off? Screaming like a banshee and expressing when I'm angry does work?

Maybe it's something their Dad and I have done right?

Why Writing Keeps Me Sane

I suppose nobody really said being a mother would be easy, but you kind of assume it would be easier than it really is. To be honest, it feels like rather a thankless task.

Looking back, the sleepless nights, the breastfeeding, the nappy changing (and washing as I used real nappies) was a walk in the park compared to what comes next: Being ignored.

You'd think it got easier because now they can understand you, they're able to walk, talk, and do things for themselves...

If only.

I mean, nobody tells you that you will get sick of your own voice, that you'll get fed up with repeating yourself over and over, day after day, with the same things, that they know they need to do each morning, or whenever, but you still need to remind them... Or have to repeatedly ask them to do something, till eventually they do do it (if you're lucky). And that you can not fathom how two children could sit at the breakfast table, first thing in the morning AND BICKER!

I've now decided it probably doesn't matter what I say in front of my children, because they're never listening anyway... WRONG! The minute I say an expletive, oh, yeah, course they hear that!

Or as soon as I pick up the phone or talking to someone. They're either really really noisy or nosy, or start fighting or trying to talk to me. "Who is it? Who is it?"

The little fuckers!

Now it's summer, my neighbours probably think I'm mad, as they hear me, outside in the garden, hanging the washing out and swearing under my breath how sick I am of being ignored.

Or think I'm a fishwife the way I holler at my kids...

So, this is why I love my writing. I can get lost in it. I forget I am a mother. It reminds me I am an intelligent woman and I'm putting that intelligence to some good use. It makes me forget the nagging, horrible person I don't enjoy becoming. I really don't like her! But however much I try not to become her, I fail. It doesn't work...

With my writing I become Teresa F Morgan, author of contemporary romance, commercial women's fiction. I am heard... well, read.

Mean Mummy Moment

I feel a bit mean today.

I've sent my now 9-year-old off to school although he's not feeling 100%. It is only a cold... but he's got a little birthday bash tonight with three friends (that's all I can manage in this cosy house) coming over, and if I didn't send him into school, we'd have to cancel it.

And I slaved yesterday, making cakes, fizzy jellies, sorting out an Easter egg hunt (which I've now put around the house).

Why do these things always come when you've made plans? Plans that have been in the diary weeks!

To be honest, call me a mean, hard mummy, but it is only a cold, and he needs to learn life goes on.

They just don't warn you about the sickness, and the other 'joys' that come from having kids. I'm so glad mine don't get that ill very often, because I'm not a very patient mummy.

One Of Those Blog Posts

I'm having one of those 'I feel overwhelmed moments.'

I've had a really lovely day today with my friend. We've gone to the cinema while the kids were at school, so we've had the place to ourselves. And before that we had a late breakfast/very early lunch at Frankie And Benny's. We both had pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. Yum!

Then I've come home and picked up the boys from school, and that's when reality crashes back. My lovely day out is the price of no housework being done, still the ever increasing 'to do' list, and no writing achieved. Plus the joy of argumentative, fighting kids.

Sometimes I think life would be easier if I didn't write. I wouldn't beat myself up every time I spend some leisure time with friends. I wouldn't have that nagging voice at the back of my mind saying, 'I should be writing'. The housework wouldn't seem such a chore, or waste of time, because I'd have plenty of time to do it, rather than thinking, 'I'd rather be writing'. I'd probably actually have free time.

Just imagine... time to watch the TV. Guilt free.

Life was simpler without kids, working Monday to Friday nine till five... wasn't it? Although I wasn't really happy then, because I found myself bored. Very bored.

Life would feel better if I could write Monday to Friday nine till five...

However, that doesn't pay so well at the moment - and I doubt it ever will! - so I have to work to feed us, and keep a roof over our heads. Also, the housework - even the bare minimum I do - still has to be done. And before you harp on you can leave the housework, there is still some that has to be done daily, like cooking and the washing up! And we all need clean clothes. (I can't live in complete chaos - I'm just not that sort of person).

I know I chose to be a single mum, and I don't regret that decision. I wasn't happy, and now I am. But it is hard work. Being a mum full stop is hard work. But when I'm trying to make a career out of writing - because wouldn't it be nice to be a woman with a career!? - plus work (which isn't a job I'd choose but fits around the kids) to pay the bills, and then the cooking, cleaning, ironing... Some days, I just feel overwhelmed and fed up... as if I'm forever chasing my tail. Or biting off more than I can chew...

So if you ever feel like you're having one of those days too. You are not alone.

Little White Lies

Sometimes, as a mother, I feel like such a fraud. My kids will ask me, over the dinner table, "Are vampires real, mummy?" And I have to respond, "of course they're not," at the same time trying to remember I must put a pound under his pillow before I go to bed, so he believes the Tooth Fairy has been.

And Santa. He's real too, obviously.

As of September I will start reminding them that his 'helpers' are out watching to see if they've been naughty or nice. Santa is great blackmail material. However, it's not so great when I nag the little darlings to treat the PlayStation 3 nicely because Mummy can't afford to buy a new one, my eight-year-old kindly reminds me I didn't buy the first one.

"Santa did," he says smugly.

Humph! "Well, actually..." I have to stop myself and get on with the dinner, muttering under my breath before breaking the parenting code.

They've asked if Harry Potter is real. Ha! I can do that one. "No, sweetheart, he's a fictional character in a book." And so are vampires... I must remember that when I get asked it again! Books are the answer. They're all fictional characters - of course, which they are - except The Tooth Fairy and Santa.